The phone was still ringing and Shana looked around to see where Jazmine had disappeared. Normally she didn’t need to worry about answering the phone because her niece leaped on it like a hungry cat on a cornered mouse.

“I’ll get it,” she called out when she saw that the bathroom door was closed. Grabbing the phone, Shana cradled it against her shoulder and turned to the cupboard in a second attempt to find a supper solution.

“Hello.” The cupboard, stacked with canned foods, offered little in the way of ideas.

“Shana.”

“Adam?” In her excitement she nearly dropped the phone. She’d hoped she’d hear from him, but hadn’t dared believe. He missed her, he said; he’d been thinking about her. Instantly her heart went on alert. She was afraid to put too much weight on a single phone call and yet so pleased it was all she could do not to leap up and down.

“How’s my girl?” he asked in a low, sexy voice.

Shana sighed and leaned against the wall. “I’m doing great.” Especially now that she’d heard from him.

“I was asking about Jazmine,” he teased.

Shana laughed. “She’s great, too. I want you to know we had a pity party over you.”

“A what?”

“Never mind—it’s a girl thing.” She felt so buoyant, so happy, she couldn’t prevent a giggle from slipping out.

Adam went directly to the reason for his call. “I got an e-mail from Jazmine and it started me thinking.”

“You received an e-mail from her already?”

“Actually she sent this before I flew out. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Jazz said that Brad phoned you recently.”

“Jealous?” she asked lightly, dismissing the question because he had no reason for concern. It would be manipulative to play one man against another, and she refused to do it.

“A little,” he admitted with obvious reluctance. “I need to know if you’re serious about Brad.”

“You’re phoning me all the way from Hawaii because you’re afraid of a little competition?” she asked. “Adam, you should know better than that.”

“Competition doesn’t frighten me, but I have to know where I stand with you.”

“I can’t believe you’re talking about Brad,” she said, letting her bewilderment show in her voice.

Adam held his ground. “According to Jazmine, you have what she calls issues and one of those issues is Brad, and I figured—”

“Brad,” she interrupted, “is out of my life.”

“Apparently no one bothered to tell him that. I know of two times he’s contacted you. Are there others?”

Shana was completely dumbfounded now. “You men are all alike,” she snapped. “You’re so…so territorial. Why are we even having this conversation?” She lifted the hair from her forehead and pressed her hand there as if to contain her outrage—or her growing headache. Unfortunately it didn’t work. She could think of only one reason Brad had revealed any new interest, and that was because he believed she’d become involved with another man. He considered Shana “his.” Now Adam was doing the very same thing.

“Are you upset with me?” he had the audacity to ask.

“You must be joking.” If she had to tell him, then there was something lacking in her communication skills. “Yes, Adam, I am upset. You don’t seem to care about me. Your big concern is that I might be tempted to go back to Brad.”

They both took a moment to let the sparks die down. Shana was afraid to say anything more, afraid the conversation would deteriorate further and they’d reach a point of no return.

The bathroom door opened then and Jazmine stepped out, hair wrapped in a towel.

“Here,” Shana said, shoving the telephone receiver toward her. “It’s your uncle Adam. Talk to him.”

“Shana, we aren’t finished yet,” she heard him yell.

“Oh, yes, we are,” she said loud and clear. She just couldn’t resist.

Jazmine tentatively accepted the phone, but the conversation was short. Angry, and uncertain how to cope with her anger, Shana paced across the kitchen floor to the window and stood there, staring out at the garden.

Jazmine turned to her after she’d hung up the phone. “Should I get out the ice cream?”

Shana managed to smile. “You know, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

Chapter Seventeen

Commander Frank Dillon figured he had to be the biggest jerk alive, but in his own defense, his behavior toward SMO Karas was motivated strictly by self-preservation.

A week after he’d gone back to sick bay, he was released. Unfortunately, it wasn’t soon enough. Every second he spent in close proximity to Alison was pure agony. More times than he wanted to admit, he had to remind himself that she was married. Married with a capital M. All he had to do was glance at the ring to remember she was off-limits. Granted, she’d switched it to her right hand, but that act of deception actually bothered him more.

He’d fallen for her, and fallen hard. Whenever he saw her, his heart did a free fall—like a paratrooper diving from a plane—until he saw that damned ring. Then he knew it was time to pull the rip cord and put an end to his ridiculous fascination with the woman.

This sort of thing didn’t happen. Not to him. He was particularly confused by the fact that although Alison wore a wedding band, she’d sent him some pretty clear signals—signals that said she was interested and available. While he was undeniably tempted, Frank felt sickened by her lack of respect for her husband and her vows. He wanted nothing more to do with her.

Back on the bridge at the end of his shift, Frank knew the crew had been eagerly waiting for the USS Woodrow Wilson to make its port call in Guam. Shore leave had been granted.

During his years in the Navy, Frank had sailed all over the world, and his favorite destination was the South Pacific. He’d read many accounts of the action here during World War II, as well as histories of the explorers.

“You headed ashore?” Commander Howden asked, joining Frank on the bridge.

Frank, still feeling the effects of his surgery, had decided against leaving the carrier. There would be ample opportunity on other voyages. “Not this time.”

“A few of us are talking about golf and dinner. Why don’t you come along?”

“Thanks, I’ll give it some thought.” Frank wouldn’t willingly admit it, but he felt too weak. A round of golf would probably do him in.

Howden started to walk away, then unexpectedly turned back. “I met the senior medical officer the other day—Alison Karas,” he said casually.

Frank stiffened at the sound of her name.

“She’s a good woman. I knew her husband.”

Frank’s jaw tightened at his use of the past tense. “Knew?”

Hal nodded. “He was killed a couple of years ago in a training accident. He’d been aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln. You heard about it,” he said.

“Yes—but I didn’t make the connection.” Frank spoke quietly.

“No reason you should, I suppose,” Howden continued. “I just realized it myself.”

Frank felt angry with himself for the false assumptions he’d made. Alison was a widow and all along, all this time, he’d believed she was married and unfaithful. He hated everything he’d been thinking about her, hated the way he’d magnified her supposed transgressions in his mind. He knew why he’d done it—because he was afraid of what might happen.

As soon as possible, Frank went down to sick bay. He needed—no, wanted—to apologize. He couldn’t explain his behavior, but he could let Alison know he regretted what he’d said and done. Perhaps the best course of action was to leave things as they were, but he was unwilling to do that.

He found Lieutenant Rowland on duty in sick bay. Not an enviable task when the majority of his shipmates were touring paradise. The lieutenant snapped to attention when Frank came in.

“Can I help you, Commander?”

Frank returned the salute. “At ease. I’m looking for Ali. Do you know where I might find her?”

“Ali?” The young officer couldn’t hide his surprise. “I’m sorry, sir, she’s gone ashore.”

Frank had guessed as much. “Did she happen to mention where she was going?”

“No, sir, but I suspect she’s headed toward the Farmer’s Market. A few of the other women officers mentioned they were planning to check it out.”

“Thank you,” Frank said as he spun around. His energy had been waning, but adrenaline pumped through him now as he hurried off the ship. Fortunately, he was familiar with the island and grabbed the first taxi he saw, paying the driver handsomely.

The streets swarmed with sailors, tourists and locals. The carnival-like atmosphere was everywhere. Music played, chickens squawked and locals hawked their wares, eager to separate the sailors from their hard-earned dollars. The market was so crowded it was nearly impassable.

In this mass of humanity, Frank wondered if locating Alison was a lost cause. That didn’t discourage him, but he knew his odds weren’t good.

What he should do, Frank decided after a fruitless hour, was think like a woman. The problem with that was he didn’t know how a woman thought. If he did, his marriage might’ve lasted longer than two years.

Marriage. The word shot through his brain. Even if he located Ali, he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d say to her, or how she’d react. He’d apologize, that much he knew. He must’ve been intolerable the entire time he was in sick bay, and he admired the way she’d confronted him, admired her professionalism. It wasn’t easy to admit he’d been a colossal jerk; if for no other reason, Frank owed her an apology. Then, with his conscience clear, he’d walk away and that would be the end of it.

Suddenly he saw her. She was with a group of female officers, examining a bolt of silk. A flower lei was draped around her neck and the sun shone on her gleaming dark hair. Gazing at her, Frank stood stock-still as the human traffic moved around him.

He watched Ali run her palm over the red silk and ask the proprietor one question and then another. Frank couldn’t hear the man’s response, but apparently she didn’t like it because she promptly shook her head and left without further haggling.

She hadn’t seen Frank, since she was moving straight toward him. He remained frozen, waiting for her to notice that he was there. The two women with her recognized him first. One of them, another lieutenant commander, tilted her head toward Alison and he saw Alison’s eyes swing in his direction. Almost immediately she looked away, an expression of discomfort on her face.

“Lieutenant Commander Karas,” he said crisply, stepping up to her. Perhaps she’d think he was on official business. “I need a moment of your time.”

She blinked as if gathering her composure.

He scowled at her companions and they quickly took the hint.

“We’ll meet up with you later,” one friend stated, setting off.